


S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents don't sing Kumbaya

by Saral_Hylor



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Campfires, Clint doesn't like awkward silences, Gen, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, especially if it's Steve who is getting sad, or people getting sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saral_Hylor/pseuds/Saral_Hylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic prompt from quandong_crumble: The Avengers - stories and marshmallows around a campfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents don't sing Kumbaya

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quandong_crumble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quandong_crumble/gifts).



> Fic prompt from quandong_crumble, for quandong_crumble.

Clint stretched out towards the pile of wood they'd gathered together, grabbing one of the larger branches - still fairly weedy and pathetic given the vegetation of the surrounding area - and tossed it onto the fire, sending a shower of sparks rising into the air. 

Steve looked up from where he finished tying a bandage around Natasha's sprained wrist, eyes following the sparks as they rose, face a mixture of wonderment and maybe something along the lines of melancholy, but Clint wasn't really sure if he was reading that right. 

It didn't surprise him a whole lot when Steve's next words were tinged with memory and a hint of longing. 

"We had nights like this back in the war, huddling around a fire. Before then, I'd never actually had a campfire."

Silence settled over their little group, something thick and haunted and Clint didn't like where it was headed.

He cleared his throat, absently scratching the tip of an arrow in the dirt, drawing random stick figures and something that didn't look nearly enough like a dog as he'd hoped it would. "We used to have camp fires some nights, in the circus. Used to be a pretty big thing, bonfires sometimes, always fun."

The non-silence of the night settled back over them again, the crack of the fire as it ate into the wood they'd fed it, and the breeze rustling through the woody shrubs around them. Clint glanced up at Natasha expectantly, receiving a rather pointed look in return, and he doubted there would be much of a story coming from her. 

He scratched at the ground a couple more times, randomly doodling what could have been a slice of pizza over the top of the dog stick figure he'd drawn before, trying to think of something else to say, but coming up blank, or with comments completely inappropriate for the situation. 

Natasha shifted slightly where she was sitting, dragging her legs close to her body and resting her injured wrist against one knee. Clint looked up at her again, seeing the look she cast over her shoulder at the silent dark shape of the Quinjet wreckage they'd pulled each other out of. 

Her face was deadly serious when she turned back to face them, quirking an eyebrow slightly as she finally spoke.

"We should have brought marshmallows."


End file.
